


better off as lovers (and not the other way around)

by orphan_account



Category: Riverdale (TV 2017)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-24
Updated: 2017-10-24
Packaged: 2019-01-22 16:13:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,670
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12485628
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: “So, what you’re saying is, you want to have a friendship affair,” Jughead begins slowly, trying to piece it all together. “Because Archie’s in isolation and Betty’s practically locked up and there’s nothing else to do.”“Well, I mean, would you know how to tell Betty about this?” Veronica demands, setting her glass down on the table. “Because I sure don’t and I don’t want Archie freaking out over nothing when he already has so much going on.”“No, no, I’m with you on that,” Jughead hurriedly jumps in. “You’re right, this doesn’t mean anything. Just something to alleviate the mutual boredom, yeah?”“Precisely,” Veronica affirms, nodding. She beams at him, and there’s an intuitive flash at the back of his head:This isn’t going to end well.





	better off as lovers (and not the other way around)

When word of Moose and Midge’s murders gets out, the entire Riverdale shuts down.

For most of the families in town, this means an earlier curfew for their kids, maybe some stricter ground rules and a lot more parental supervision. Unfortunately for Jughead, Mrs. Cooper uses the opportunity to rope Betty into something akin to house arrest. He suspects that if she could somehow get away with putting an ankle monitor on her younger daughter, she would do so without hesitation.

He doesn’t think he should be as surprised as he is; there is no such thing as too extreme when it comes to Alice Cooper. Not only is Betty’s curfew switched to being home at seven on the dot, Mrs. Cooper also goes ahead and installs bars on all their windows, ruling out any nighttime rendezvous plans the two of them might have gotten away with.

Two weeks ago, Betty might have told her mom to fuck off and gone out to see Jughead, curfew be damned. But with everything around them as increasingly dangerous as they are, Jughead has to concede that Mrs. Cooper might actually be doing the right thing, window bars and all. The last thing he wants is for Betty to endanger herself for the likes of him.

For Archie, the double murders mean that every second of his spare time is spent by his dad’s side. He refuses to leave the house for anything other than school and rejects all visitors—even Veronica. He eats little and sleeps even less, and Jughead has to admit that he’s starting to worry.

He isn’t the only one. Because his time with Betty has been reduced to the hours between four and six-thirty for the time being, the two of them have taken to spending their afternoons at the half-empty Pop’s, sitting close together on one side of the booth while Veronica and Archie’s conspicuous absence occupy the seat opposite.

“I’m sure he’ll be fine, V,” Betty tries to reassure her. “Have you gone over there?”

Veronica laughs, and it’s a slightly hollow sound. “Only about a hundred times,” she says. There are frown lines on her forehead, creases around her lips. “He says he just wants to be with his dad.”

Betty bites her lip, anxious. “I’m sure he’ll be fine,” she says again, sounding less certain than before. 

She looks over at the clock on the wall and winces. “We better get going,” she tells Jughead. “We can’t afford another near-miss like last week.”

“Because your mom is never prone to overreacting,” Jughead quips, and this startles a laugh out of Veronica. She looks up at him and smiles, the first genuine one he’s seen from her in a while.

Betty tells Veronica that she’ll see her tomorrow and the two of them head out into the still-bright day. Jughead gets on his dad’s bike and Betty winds her arms around his waist, rests her head against his back. They ride off, and Jughead finds himself wondering when he started to memorize Veronica Lodge’s smiles.

—

His dad’s trailer isn’t exactly the Ritz Carlton, but with the only other option being sent to live with a foster family on the other side of town, Jughead decides to take what he can get. Besides, he can’t imagine having someone tell him what to do anymore, not after being on his own for nearly a year.

It’s a little past ten, but already the area around him is calm and still, even for the likes of the Southside. No one wants to risk being outside with a killer on the loose.

He’s sitting in the living room with a book for his AP English class, as has been his nightly routine ever since Betty’s new curfew was enforced. He scribbles down a few notes in the margins, contemplates moving on to the next chapter, when his thoughts are interrupted by a sharp rap on the door.

He freezes, every single hair on his body standing to attention. For a moment, he hopes that maybe the sound was nothing more than a figment of his imagination, or another one of the endless loose bolts and creaky hinges that seem to plague a trailer as old as this one.

From the other side of the wall, in a tone tinged with annoyance, Veronica Lodge’s voice says, “Jughead, I know you’re in there so let me in.”

Her words have the opposite effect on him. Instead of getting him to move faster, Jughead pauses in his tracks, his mind churning. Of all the people he’s ever expected to show up at his door, including his dad, one of the other Serpents, or, hell, the murderer himself, Veronica hadn’t even made the cut. He has no idea what she could possibly be doing here.

When he does pull the door open, Veronica is indeed waiting on the other side, tapping her foot impatiently and holding onto a large bottle covered in gold wrapping. In the weak brightness from the porch light overhead, her features look soft, a little blurry.

“What are you doing here?” he asks her, finally finding his voice. “Are you lost or something?” he tacks on, ever the gracious host.

In lieu of answering, Veronica holds up the bottle and says, “Are you going to let me in? Because I just stole another one of my dad’s Cristal and I’m scared the gold will attract attention.” 

Jughead has to bite down on his tongue to stop himself from pointing out that in this part of town, everything about Veronica, from the string of pearls around her neck to the darkness of her eyes, would warrant a double-take. 

Veronica lets herself inside and peers around the trailer curiously. “Well it’s definitely not the Ritz,” she says eventually, and turns to him with a grin. Jughead laughs out loud before he can stop himself, and though Veronica lifts a brow in confusion, she doesn’t ask.

The two of them sit around and drink wine out of mismatched glasses for a bit, until Jughead breaks the silence with, “Okay, seriously, what are you doing here?”

Ever since their conversation a few weeks ago, he’ll admit that there’s been more of a tentative friendship between them, something that feels almost genuine. But he still doesn’t know why Veronica would willingly seek him out.

Veronica lets out a long-suffering sigh, crosses her legs together. “Betty’s under strict surveillance and Archie’s on a self-imposed exile from the rest of the world,” she says matter-of-factly. “Do you have anything better to do?”

Jughead blinks, turns her words over in his head. “Are you—are you telling me that you actually came here to _hang out_?” he asks her in disbelief. “With _me_?”

“No one is more surprised about this than me,” Veronica replies, still looking strangely calm, as if they’re discussing nothing more than tomorrow’s weather forecast. “Look, the fact of the matter is, as both our respective partners are unavailable for the foreseeable future, and my dad sent Smithers away—”

“Yes,” Jughead cuts in dryly, “because God forbid we all learn to live without our butlers.”

Veronica glares at him, but there’s no real heat behind it. “I _was_ going to say that believe it or not, we do have a lot in common,” she starts. “I don’t think it would be the worst thing in the world to spend a little time together.”

When Jughead doesn’t immediately reply, Veronica goes on. “We don’t even need to let Archie or Betty know about this,” she says. “I wouldn’t want them to think—well, it doesn’t mean anything.”

“So, what you’re saying is, you want to have a friendship affair,” Jughead begins slowly, trying to piece it all together. “Because Archie’s in isolation and Betty’s practically locked up and there’s nothing else to do.”

“Well, I mean, would you know how to tell Betty about this?” Veronica demands, setting her glass down on the table. “Because I sure don’t and I don’t want Archie freaking out over nothing when he already has so much going on.”

“No, no, I’m with you on that,” Jughead hurriedly jumps in. “You’re right, this doesn’t mean anything. Just something to alleviate the mutual boredom, yeah?”

“Precisely,” Veronica affirms, nodding. She beams at him, and there’s an intuitive flash at the back of his head: _This isn’t going to end well_. But it fades away as quickly as it comes, falling into a meaningless jumble of thought. “Consider the Cristal a peace offering of sorts.”

“Is bribing people with expensive wine how they cultivate friendships in New York?” Jughead asks her, leaning back against the couch cushions.

“Cocaine is more standard, I think,” Veronica replies without missing a beat. “But since I’m not trying to get arrested, I thought I’d downgrade a bit.”

“Bring me a plasma screen TV next time and I’ll propose on the spot,” Jughead returns, and Veronica laughs. He’s surprised by the relative ease of their conversation, and he wonders how much more he’s missed out on in the months they’ve known each other.

“Let’s not get ahead of ourselves,” she says. Her eyes scan the room around her before they land on his overturned book lying on the coffee table. “ _Last Exit to Brooklyn_?” She picks it up and starts flipping through the pages. “We read this back at Spence,” she tells him conspiratorially. “Before Emily Thompson’s mom found out and had it blacklisted.”

“Yeah?” Jughead shifts forward and regards her carefully, already gearing up for what he knows is sure to be an interesting discussion. “Don’t you think Selby’s use of everyman prose was a little too much? I feel like it took something away from the plot.”

Veronica gapes at him, staring at him in horror. “You did not just say that,” she says, and Jughead feels himself start to smile.

—

He and Veronica give up and call it quits around two in the morning, the late hour and the empty bottle of wine only serving to add to their growing exhaustion. 

She makes her way out the door and Jughead gets to his feet to start clearing up, when he notices the bottle of Cristal still lying turned on its side. Instead of throwing it away, he picks it up and sets it down on the kitchen counter, the bright gold like a beacon of light amidst the dull tones of the trailer.

The next day, Jughead heads over to meet up with Betty at Pop’s, only to find Veronica absent. 

“Where’s Veronica?” he asks, sliding into the seat across Betty. She pushes the plate filled with his usual order towards him, and he takes a bite of his burger. “Did she stay home from school or something?”

“Her dad put the whole Pembrooke on lockdown,” Betty tells him, her eyes wide with concern. “Apparently somebody keeps stealing from his stash of Cristal.”

She doesn’t bother asking Jughead why he laughs so hard he nearly chokes on his burger.

—

Nearly a month after Veronica first moves to Riverdale, the four of them are sitting in a booth at Pop’s. Betty and Archie are on one side, while Veronica, Jughead, and the solid foot of space between them occupy the other.

Veronica usually sits next to Jughead when both Archie and Betty are present, like it’ll do anything to stop the longing, hopeful glances Archie always shoots her when he thinks no one notices. For some reason, this just makes Jughead resent her even more.

While he’s glad to have gotten his best friend back after a summer without him, Archie’s renewed friendship had also come with the worst form of collateral damage Jughead can remember willingly inflicting on himself. Namely, Betty’s self-appointed, former socialite of a best friend, who Jughead has got about as much in common with as a beetle does a Maltese.

“My mom told me they’re thinking about closing down the Twilight Drive-In,” Betty says, leaning forward like she’s telling a secret. “Apparently some anonymous buyer made a huge donation for the land.”

“Great,” Jughead groans. “Because what this town needs is more of its last dregs of charm being lost to the iron first of American capitalism.”

To his right, Veronica lets out a snort. “Sure,” she says dryly. “Because in the age of Netflix and VOD, people really want to watch a movie in a car.” She flicks her hair back. “I love how quaint everything here is.”

Betty makes to add something, but Jughead beats her to it. “By all means, Veronica,” he says, tone laced with venom, “please enlighten us small-town beings how people watch movies in the wonderful New York.”

Veronica finally turns to face him. “Say what you want, but don’t act like you’re not dying to see a real city for once.”

He pretends to think it over. “I don’t know,” he starts, the beginning of a sneer on his features, “an entire city filled with people exactly like you? I think I’d better give it a miss.”

She narrows her eyes, drums her fingernails against the surface of the table. They’re painted a dark red, just like her lips. “You really think you’re something else, don’t you?”

Jughead levels a glare at her. “I’m sorry, are you the pot or the kettle?” he scoffs. “Because in this game of hypocrisy, I can’t even tell anymore.”

If looks could kill, the expression on Veronica’s face would eviscerate Jughead on the spot. For some strange reason, this also causes something to spark within him. “That’s rich, coming from someone who—”

This time, it’s Archie who cuts in. “Guys, come on,” he says, and Jughead startles. He had almost forgotten they had an audience. “It’s been almost a month. Can’t you two try and _pretend_ to get along?”

“Archie’s right,” Betty says firmly, the two of them sitting across the table, looking so much like a pair of exasperated parents that Jughead has to fight the urge to laugh. From the slight twist to Veronica’s mouth, he wonders if she feels it, too. “Besides, you two have more in common than you think.”

His smile drops and he looks over at Veronica, takes in her expensive clothes and the smell of her high-end perfume, the way she always sits so prim and proper, like they’re mannequins in a display case instead of teenagers in a small diner, and he thinks, _Yeah, right_.

He doesn’t have to watch her very long to know that she’s thinking the same thing.

—

Later on, when the girls have gone to the bathroom and Jughead and Veronica have exchanged nothing more than forced pleasantries and fake smiles, even as she kicks him underneath the table, he leans forward to complain as much to his best friend.

“Why do you keep trying to force us together, man?” Jughead demands, his question bordering on whiny. “She’s rich and shallow. She’s basically the epitome of everything I hate.”

Archie huffs out a laugh, seemingly amused by something. “You know, Jug, that would mean a lot more if you didn’t hate almost everything,” he tells him, grinning widely.

Veronica returns to her seat and starts to talk loudly about New York, and Jughead mulls over Archie’s statement and decides that hate is not an accurate enough emotion for what he feels when it comes to Veronica Lodge.

—

The next time Veronica comes over, she has a six-pack of beer with her.

“Betty told me what happened,” Jughead says, standing aside to let her in. “I hope you didn’t get into too much trouble.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Veronica says breezily, waving a hand at him. “He had no proof. But as it is, he’s now in the middle of trying to install a security camera on top of the liquor cabinet. I figured it was time to lay low.”

“Hence the cheap beer,” Jughead replies, taking the offered can. “I never pegged you as a beer kind of girl.”

Veronica clucks her tongue at him, shakes her head. “You should never judge a book by its cover, Jughead,” she tells him knowingly, cracking her own can open. “That’s the first rule when it comes to being friends with Veronica Lodge.”

“Do only rich girls refer to themselves in third person?” Jughead asks her, laughs when she tosses one of his dad’s throw pillows at him. “Is that why no one else here does it?”

“Only the classy ones,” Veronica replies, faux-serious. He’s come to recognize her brand of dry humor as something that closely resembles his own, and maybe they never talk about anything too serious or thought-provoking, but he thinks it’s not the worst thing in the world, spending time with her.

“What movie are we picking apart tonight?” Veronica asks. She gets up and moves to sit next to him on the sofa, his laptop already open and waiting in front of them. “Has your ego recovered from last time?”

“ _Inglorious Basterds_ is overrated and I don’t care what the critics say,” Jughead intones, and Veronica smiles triumphantly. “I was thinking a cult classic,” he suggests. “ _Donnie Darko_?”

If possible, the smile on Veronica’s features stretches even wider. “I hope you know that _Donnie Darko_ is one of my personal favorites,” she says, and Jughead finds himself mentally filing that bit of information away for one day.

She leans forward and grabs his laptop off the table, setting it between them like it’s hers. That’s Veronica for you, Jughead notes, she can walk into any room and take all the space right out of it, staking her claim on everything she comes into contact with.

He thinks she’s starting to do the same thing inside his head.

Jughead snaps himself out of it, pops open another beer. “Let the commentary begin,” he says.

—

“You look tired,” Betty says, glancing at the dark shadows under his eyes. “Is everything okay?”

“It’s nothing, Betts,” he replies, reaching for her hand. She intertwines their fingers together and he runs his thumb across the back of her palm. “I guess I’m just worried about my dad,” he adds, swallowing hard around the slight lie.

True to their agreement, neither Jughead nor Veronica ever make mention of their nocturnal arrangement, even to each other. It’s just that Archie is never there and Betty isn’t suspicious in the slightest, and there’s essentially no point in trying to complicate things with something that doesn’t even _matter_.

At least, that’s what Jughead continues to tell himself.

“You don’t have to worry about Cheryl going back on what she said,” Betty tells him, cryptic. “I made sure she wouldn’t.”

There’s something about the tone of her voice that stirs uneasily in Jughead, the meaning beneath her words coming across almost like a threat. He hadn’t asked any questions when Betty came to him with the news that she’d taken care of the Cheryl situation; he’d been too preoccupied with his dad to notice.

He kisses the top of her head. “I appreciate it,” he says, and he wonders why that comes out feeling like a lie as well.

—

“How was Archie?” Jughead asks Veronica later that night.

She’s been quiet, a little more subdued than usual ever since she showed up around eleven, this time with a carton of orange juice and half a bottle of vodka. Her gaze is trained on some point in the distance, her mind clearly somewhere beyond the four walls that enclose her.

Veronica blows out a sigh. “He’s a wreck,” she admits, lifting her eyes to meet his. “I don’t know what to do.” She shakes her head. “I think this is the first time in my life I don’t have a _clue_ what to do. To make everything worse, I can’t stop thinking…” She trails off.

“Can’t stop thinking?” Jughead prompts, aware that whatever Veronica says next will have a huge impact on him one way or another.

She suddenly can’t look at him when she says, “I love Archie. Or at least, I thought I did. But now, I feel like there’s just all this outside _stuff_ holding us together; all the murders and the mysteries.” She bites her lip in distress. “I can’t help but wonder if we would still be together if everything here was normal.” 

There’s a brief pause, and then she laughs, a self-deprecating sound. “Girlfriend of the year, right?” she asks him dully. “My boyfriend’s going insane and I’m here wondering if we’re meant to be together at all.” She finally turns to him. “Do you know what I mean?” she asks, almost pleading. “Is this something you’ve felt, too?”

It’s as if all the air has been sucked from the room around him, compressing him in place, the weight of everything Veronica is saying settling on his shoulders like a ton of bricks being piled on top of each other. 

Like a film in reverse, he reflects on his entire relationship with Betty, how its foundation had been built on investigating Jason’s disappearance and murder, how he sometimes thinks about where they would be without the clandestine sleuthing sessions and late-night manhunts. How ever since she’s been under house arrest, temporarily putting an end to their search for the killer, he hasn’t been missing her as much as he thought he would.

The reality is, this town is going to hell and taking everyone along with it, and the only thing that makes Jughead feel even remotely normal anymore are the hours he spends in his living room, dissecting cult classics and talking cinematography and direction with his girlfriend’s best friend, the girl he once swore he could never have anything in common with. 

The worst thing is, this is also the one thing he can’t admit to himself.

He loves Betty; he knows this, feels it, all the way down to his core. But underneath that certainty, he’s always wondered if their relationship was doomed to fall apart and unravel, if it hasn’t already started.

“Sort of,” Jughead says, and he doesn’t know which one of Veronica’s questions he’s answering.

—

Three days later, Jughead stands outside the entrance to Riverdale High, his dad’s motorcycle next to him. He’d gotten off from school a little earlier than usual, and instead of heading straight to Pop’s, he decided to come over and pick up Betty himself.

“Well, if it isn’t Moses on a motorbike,” a voice from behind him quips, and he spins around and finds himself standing in front of Cheryl Blossom. “I haven’t seen you since your father’s trial,” she adds, inspecting her manicure. “Waiting for Lady Macbeth, are we?”

“What do you want?” he asks her, suddenly tired. Seeing Cheryl just brings up a lot of complicated thoughts he’s been doing his best to repress. Like that maybe having her lie on his father’s behalf had been wrong, that maybe his dad deserves to go to jail after all.

Cheryl raises an eyebrow at him. “Just so you know,” she starts, “while I am a huge fan of loyalty, I’d suggest you tell your soulmate that the next time she wants something, to leave the PTSD-triggering evidence at home. Extortion isn’t a good look on her.”

Jughead feels the wind around him grow cold and still. “What are you talking about?” he demands, taking a step back.

Cheryl snorts and tosses her bright hair over her shoulder. “Please,” she scoffs. “Don’t act like you two lovebirds didn’t conjure up this scheme over vanilla milkshakes and whatever other police files you have on hand.” She fixes him with an icy stare. “Your girlfriend blackmailed me with the video of my brother’s death to get your criminal father a get-out-of-jail-free card.”

He feels the world underneath him tilt on its axis. “Betty wouldn’t—she wouldn’t do that,” he says, even as Cheryl’s words only serve to confirm what he had already suspected. That Betty really would do anything to help him, even turn into someone she’d hate.

“Au contraire,” Cheryl counters, but she looks almost sorry for him now. “You look like you’re about to pass out, so I’ll take the nausea as a sign of your probable innocence. But I won’t be so generous next time,” she warns. “I’ll be seeing you.”

She flounces away and leaves Jughead rooted in place, dark spots swimming in front of his vision. When Betty finally exits the school and sees him waiting for her, she rushes over, eyes bright and smile wide, and Jughead can’t look at her.

—

That night, it’s Jughead who’s quiet, with Veronica shooting him worried glances from the side.

“Did you know that Betty blackmailed Cheryl into defending my dad?” he asks her, cutting through the tense silence.

Her gaze immediately drops to the ground, and Jughead has his answer. “Why didn’t you say anything?” he demands, rounding on her.

“I thought you knew,” Veronica replies. She shrugs, guilty. “I thought the two of you had…” She trails off, lets him pick up on the implications of her unfinished statement.

Jughead takes a deep breath. “Do you think I’m the kind of person who would—” He breaks off, his voice strangled. “I know she was just trying to help,” he says in a rush. “No one has ever tried to help me as much as she does. But sometimes, I don’t want _help_.”

Before Veronica can say anything, Jughead goes on. “Do you think my dad should go to jail?” he asks quietly.

“I can’t answer that for you,” Veronica says. He turns towards her and she fixes him with a sharp look, one that cuts straight through to his insides. “I think you already have an answer to that, though.”

“It was all so clear-cut in the beginning,” he confesses, deflating against the couch cushions. “The moment I heard he might be going away for the next twenty years, I just panicked. But the more I think about it, the more I realize that he knew exactly what he was doing.” 

He stares up at the ceiling. “My dad is finally trying to be a dad and a part of me thinks he should go to jail. What kind of person does this make me?

“It makes you a better person than you know,” Veronica says simply, like it’s a fact. “Maybe your dad did this one horrible thing, but at least you know that at the end of it all, he’s coming out a good person.” She shakes her head. “Unlike my dad, who went to jail and…”

She lapses into silence and Jughead can see her struggling internally with herself. “You never told me why you were living with Archie,” she eventually says.

He makes to sit up, trying to wrap his brain around the shift in topic. “What?”

“Why were you living with Archie for so long?” Veronica asks him, looking for all the world like she’s afraid of what his answer might be. “All I know is that you weren’t living with your dad before him, so where were you living?”

Jughead swallows down the tightness that’s lodged in his throat. “It’s not important,” he says. He can see where this conversation is heading. “It was a while back.”

“Jughead,” Veronica says firmly, dark eyes boring into his with such an intensity that he can’t look away. “I need you to tell me where you were living.”

“The drive-in,” Jughead finally admits, and the confession twists and regroups itself into the space between them. “Before it closed down.”

There’s radio silence from Veronica’s end, and when Jughead glances over at her, it’s to find that her face has drained of all color. “Oh my God,” she says slowly. “That’s why you were trying so hard to save it.”

He exhales, long and deep. “Yeah.”

“My dad,” she starts, her expression growing darker with each passing moment. “My dad bought the land for one of his illegal deals and you were _living_ there.”

“It doesn’t matter anymore,” he tries to assure her, scooting forward. He’s a little afraid that Veronica is about two seconds away from smashing his possessions. “It was a long time ago.”

“I am such a horrible person,” she laments. “I just remembered that day at Pop’s. I laughed at you for caring so much about the drive-in, oh my God.”

“Look, I remember that day, too,” Jughead says. “We both said some pretty nasty things to each other. In fact, I used to think I hated you.”

“You _should_ ,” Veronica replies with feeling. “You have every right to hate me and my _father_ , who I wish to hell I could pretend wasn’t—”

“Hey,” Jughead cuts in, grabbing onto one of her hands in an effort to calm her down. “It doesn’t matter,” he says again, and she turns her palm over in his, locking their fingers together. “Why do you suddenly care about this?” he asks. “It’s been months.”

“Because…” Veronica trails off, her eyes searching his face for something. “Because you’re Betty’s boyfriend.”

He instantly lets go of her hand like he’s been burned, completely unprepared for the burst of disappointment that floods his insides at her answer. Of course she only cares about him in relation to Betty. He wants to tell himself that he only continues to hang around her to starve off the loneliness that Betty’s absence brings, but even he knows that he doesn’t really believe it anymore.

The dust settles around them in the wake of their conversation, and Veronica lets out a sigh. “I wish I had known about your situation,” she says. “I would have tried to do something.” 

“Like what?” Jughead returns, wanting to lighten the mood. “Invite me to live with you?”

“I probably would have,” Veronica replies without hesitating. “Although maybe _forced_ you to live with me would have been the more accurate term,” she says with a grin. “Seeing as we hated each other and all that.”

Jughead doesn’t— _can’t_ —say anything, and Veronica mistakes his speechlessness for mute horror. “Come on,” she teases, “living with me wouldn’t have been _that_ bad.” 

She flops back onto the couch as she goes on. “Just picture it: movie nights, late-night fridge raids, pranking Smithers.” She turns to him and smiles wistfully. “In another world, huh?”

Jughead does. He does picture it all, and he’s left wondering when exactly an imaginary world was enough to get him to fall in love for the second time in his life.

—

They watch _Roman Holiday_ in silence, too immersed in their own private thoughts to comment much on anything. When the movie ends, Veronica stands and stretches her arms above her head, all the tension draining away from her body.

“Thanks for finally indulging my love for Audrey Hepburn,” she says over her shoulder, as she walks to the bathroom. “Even if it wasn’t _Breakfast at Tiffany’s_.” 

“You wish,” Jughead replies, but she doesn’t hear him. 

He pushes himself to his feet and starts clearing away the dirty glasses, as he often does when their movie nights begin to wind down. Veronica usually stays long enough to help him take out trash before driving home, the moonlight bouncing off the silver of her car.

There’s a soft _thump_ from behind him, and the hair at the back of Jughead’s neck starts to prickle uncomfortably, the way it does when he knows he’s being observed. He makes to turn around, ready to rag on Veronica for watching him like a stalker, only to find his forehead pressed against the barrel of a gun.

The masked killer is standing in the middle of his living room, his body blocking off the entrance to the kitchen. Even with his body partially obscured by long shadows, there’s no mistaking the dark clothes he’s wearing, the cloth covering most of his face. He jabs the gun sharply at Jughead’s forehead, and all the glasses he’s holding clatters to the ground.

Jughead’s never done cocaine in his entire life, but he thinks it might feel something like this. He can hear every tick of the clock behind him, feel every pulse of blood that runs through his veins. He doesn’t think he’ll ever experience anything with such a laser-sharp clarity as he does at this very moment, at what are undoubtedly the last few seconds of his life.

The gun turns with a click, and as Jughead’s mind empties, his last thoughts are not of his dad, or of Archie, or of his mom and Jellybean, who he’ll die without ever seeing again. They are not of Betty, of her smile and her bright hair and the exact color of her eyes.

He faces death and the only thing he can think is, _Veronica. Did he get Veronica?_

He’s completely frozen, fear and surprise rendering him unable to move. The back door had been wrenched open, and cold air blows in through the opening, filling the room around him. He shuts his eyes, counting down the seconds until darkness comes. 

_Crack._ There’s a sound like the strike of a whip, shattering glass, and the killer lets out a long howl of pain. Jughead opens his eyes and finds Veronica standing behind the killer, the broken bottle of Cristal he’d kept in her hand. Her eyes meet his as the killer turns around and makes a lunge for her, the blood seeping from his left shoulder slowing down his movements. 

“Run!” she yells at him, ducking down in time to avoid being grabbed. She jumps over the kitchen counter and lands on her hands and knees, and Jughead yanks her to her feet and pulls her out into the night without a second’s pause.

They run as fast as they can, and Jughead can register nothing else but the steady pounding of his own heart and the heavy footsteps behind them, drawing closer with each passing minute. Suddenly, something slams into him from the side, and he finds himself being thrown into a patch of shrubs, his back hitting the dust and knocking all the wind from his lungs.

Veronica lands on top of him, her breath coming out in small pants. He opens his mouth to ask her what the hell is going on, but she clamps a hand on top of it, muffling the sound. She shakes her head at him, her eyes conveying a sense of urgency.

Through the gaps in the shrubbery, Jughead watches as the killer runs past their hiding place, looks back behind him, and then moves quickly in the opposite direction. There’s another moment of absolute stillness, and then Veronica deflates and collapses onto the ground next to him, the two of them staring up at the night sky above, his ears still ringing.

Jughead breaks the silence first. “Did you just save my life with an empty bottle of Cristal?”

“Me?” Veronica demands, moving to sit up. “What the hell were you doing standing there like Bambi? You should have made a run for it.”

“I couldn’t just leave you there,” Jughead argues, the words coming out slowly as air makes its way back into his lungs. They lapse into silence, the world around them almost peaceful.

“I lied, you know,” Veronica says suddenly, like she wants to get the words out before he can hear. “When you asked me why I cared so much,” she clarifies. “It’s not only because you’re Betty’s boyfriend. The truth is, I actually—I actually like you.”

“You like me,” Jughead echoes, trying to disguise the warmth rising within him with sarcasm. “Like, for my personalty?”

“I know, I’m surprised, too,” Veronica deadpans, and she looks over at him, meets his gaze. 

He has no idea if it’s the high from Veronica’s confession, the adrenaline rush from almost being murdered, or the stark realization that his life has now devolved into an utter mess, but the second their eyes lock, they burst into hysterical laughter so loud it’s a miracle the killer doesn’t come back to finish the job, and for the longest time, they can’t stop.

—

The two of them eventually manage to collect themselves enough to head over to the station as the sun begins to rise, and the next few hours pass by in a blur of giving statements and repeating their stories so often that it begins to feel like fiction.

When Sheriff Keller finally comes in and tells them that they’re free to go, Jughead and Veronica walk out into the reception area only to find a hoard of people waiting for them. Veronica’s parents immediately pounce on her and usher her out the doors without so much as a glance in Jughead’s direction, and he’s left facing an extremely distraught Betty. 

“Jug,” Betty breathes, her face pale. She takes a step towards him, shaking in place, and he holds onto her arms to steady her. “What the hell is going on?” she hisses, bright spots of color rising to her cheeks. “What were you and Veronica doing together this late at night? I couldn’t believe it when Sheriff Keller said—” She breaks off, blinks rapidly at him like she’s trying her best not to cry.

Jughead inhales, counts to ten, steels his resolve. “Betty,” he begins slowly, his tone measured and patient. “We need to talk.”

—

When Veronica comes to him that night, he doesn’t need intuition to tell him that it’s the last time. He knows it in the rigid way she holds herself, like she’s trying to erase every bit of the familiarity between them. 

She tells him, “Betty needs you,” and, “Archie needs me,” and, “I’ve spent my whole life acting like a selfish bitch, and I need you to let me do something _un_ selfish for once.”

Jughead doesn’t tell her, _I think there’s a reason we never told anyone about us_ , and he doesn’t tell her, _I don’t love her_ , and he doesn’t add, _Anymore_ , because he knows that she already knows. He doesn’t tell her, _You don’t love him_ , and he doesn’t add, _Anymore_ , because she knows that he already knows. 

Instead, he laughs, a low and hollow sound. He tells her, “That’s not fair.” 

Veronica smiles, and it’s the loveliest, most devastating thing he’s ever seen. “What’s fair got to do with it?” she asks him, and he doesn’t answer. He doesn’t have one. 

Tomorrow, he’ll wait outside Betty’s front door and her mom will slam it in his face. Then Betty will come out and he’ll tell her that he didn’t mean it, that he’s just under a lot of pressure, that she’s the best thing that has ever happened to him.

She’ll cry and blame herself, and Jughead will take her into his arms and assure her that he only wants her to be safe, that if something happens to her he would never be able to forgive himself, that he doesn’t care if they barely get to see each other, because he loves her no matter what.

Then the two of them will head over to Pop’s, and they’ll sit in a booth with their arms around each other. Pop will set their usual orders down in front of them and smile at the young couple, so happy and in love. The door will open and Veronica will walk in, holding onto Archie’s hand for the first time in so long. Betty will sit up and and exclaim in surprise when she sees him, and the two of them will slide into the opposite seat, always so close together.

Veronica will meet his gaze from across the table, her dark eyes swimming with a thousand things she wishes she could tell him. He’ll see them all, but the only thing he’ll be able to read in her expression is, _Sorry_. He’ll nod in acknowledgement, his throat constricting slightly, and the two of them will go back to the beginning.

But as for now, he watches her walk out the front door, and everything around him fades to gray. 


End file.
